


Good Night and Good Luck

by steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeb



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Don't say I didn't warn you, it hurts so much, this is very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:11:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeb/pseuds/steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint says goodbye to Lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night and Good Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tralfamadore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tralfamadore/gifts).



\---

The fact that Lucky lived to be as old as he did was a miracle.

Large dogs typically don't live as long as small dogs, but Lucky was pushing fifteen when he could no longer get up the steps at the front of the apartment due to the arthritis in his hips. Lucky walked slowly everywhere he went now, and it'd been so long since he could run and play with Simone's kids when they came home from school. Anytime Lucky needed to go out, Clint carried him up and down the steps.

The eyesight in his remaining eye was the next to go. Even though his legs were already frail and shaky, the amount of times Lucky banged into the counter or against the door frame slowly increased until Clint noticed a white film covering most of Lucky's retina. Clint tried to help Lucky navigate the apartment, and Lucky managed as best he could since his sense of smell was still fairly strong.

The first seizure hit Lucky in the middle of the night during his last summer. Clint initially thought Lucky was dreaming and chasing a rabbit or a squirrel in his dreams, but Lucky's legs jerked for too long for the movement to be due to a dream. When Clint turned on the light and sat up he saw the foam and saliva dripping from Lucky's mouth as he rode out the rest of the seizure. Clint walked the eight blocks carrying Lucky to the nearest vet, the same vet he took Lucky to the night he adopted the dog, and sat in front of the front door until the veterinarian arrived. By then Lucky yawned and stretched as best he could by that point as if the seizure never happened. The veterinarian kept Lucky the rest of the day and throughout the following night, running various blood tests and checking for brain abnormalities.

When Clint came back to pick up Lucky, the vet called Clint into the examination room where Lucky immediately perked up at smelling someone familiar. Clint stood in front of the table and scratched behind his ears as Lucky licked at his face. He leaned against the examination table as the vet showed him a couple scans, the tumor growing in Lucky's brain obvious. The larger the tumor grew, the vet continued, the amount of seizures would increase. And due to Lucky's advanced age, surgery at this point would most likely kill him.

Clint carried Lucky back to the apartment once again, and for a few days nothing happened. Lucky puttered around the apartment as usual, ate and drank as much as he normally did, and chewed on his toys from the soft bed Clint bought to help with his joints. It wasn't until the following week the second seizure occurred. Clint sat on the floor and stroked Lucky's back until the dog slowly came back down and his breathing returned to normal.

Lucky deteriorated fairly quickly after the second seizure. He laid down to eat or drink and soon became unable to control his bladder, spending hours on his bed now covered in a training pad. Clint found himself sitting next to the dog bed for hours at a time, scratching Lucky's ears and playfully (and gently) clamping down on Lucky's muzzle until Lucky drummed up enough energy to try and nuzzle on Clint's hand in retaliation. Clint brought everything to the bed so Lucky never had to get up or move far if he didn't want to, only sitting up enough to eat.

Clint instinctively knew when it was the last day. That morning he carried Lucky down the steps to the food bowl and set him on the dog bed, nudging the bowl close enough to Lucky's nose so he could smell where the food was to eat. Instead Lucky ignored the food, choosing to lay his head down and sleep once again. Throughout the day Clint woke Lucky up to eat, holding kibble in his hand so Lucky didn't have to even sit up, but Lucky only dropped his head back onto Clint's lap.

By sunset, Lucky's breathing became erratic to the point that the effort made his nose bleed somewhat. His body began to tremor, and Clint was unsure if the tremors were related to the tumor or because Lucky was scared. Clint sat on the floor with Lucky pulled onto his lap, stroking his fur slowly to keep him calm. Lucky showed moments of clarity at times, sniffing at the leg of Clint's pants or licking Clint's hand. Clint also wasn't sure how much Lucky could hear by that point, but he talked to Lucky all the same.

"It's okay, buddy, I'm here, you don't have to fight anymore," Clint muttered, dragging his hand down his face to wipe away the tears. "You don't have to hang on for me, I'll be okay. Just think of how many birds you get to chase, maybe you'll finally catch that squirrel that kept hanging out on the windowsill. Remember that, buddy? That squirrel drove you nuts for weeks. And I bet it's an endless park you get to run in up there, you love the park. Except when you kept trying to nail some of the girl dogs, we nearly got banned permanently because of that. As if they actually kept track of that sort of thing." Clint chuckled through the tears that now rivered down his face with abandon.

By now Lucky's breathing became increasingly sporadic, stopping for some time before his chest jumped and he drew in a breath. Clint laid on the floor, Lucky's back against his chest and the dog's head resting on Clint's elbow. "You're such a good boy, Lucky. You make me a better person. Thank you for being here with me, buddy. I'll be okay. I'll be okay, bud."

Clint continued stroking Lucky's fur long after the dog stopped breathing and his body stilled, the sun rising once again. For a little while Clint closed his eyes and curled around Lucky as if they were up in the loft asleep on the bed. When the first ray of sunshine stretched across the floor, Clint popped the latch on Lucky's collar and tucked it into his back pocket, thumbing the worn tag that dangled from the side. "You always hated wearing that thing anyway."

When it was time to take Lucky back to the vet, Clint wrapped him in a small blanket and carried him the eight blocks. The vet would cremate him and pack the ashes into a small paw print urn no bigger than the lid of a paint can. He'd get the tiny urn back in a couple days. The vet gave Clint a few moments in the examination room before a vet tech would take Lucky back to the crematorium.

Clint pulled the chair up to the examination table and sat in front of Lucky's muzzle. Lucky appeared to only be asleep, and Clint scratched behind Lucky's ear the way he knew the dog liked. "This is so hard, buddy," he whispered against the top of Lucky's head, his voice wavering. "I won't ever forget you, Lucky. I love you. Thank you for taking care of me for so long, you were such a good boy. Such a good boy. You can eat all the pizza you could ever want now, isn't that great? And you get to chew on so many shoes. Thank you for just being in my life, bud."

Eventually the vet tech popped her head into the room. Clint stood and put the chair back in its original place and when he turned back around the tech handed him a few tissues. She squeezed his shoulder as he wiped down his face; typically Clint hated random contact from strangers but at the moment he was grateful for the gesture. She was the same vet tech from ten years ago when Clint brought Lucky in the first time, demanding that she fix him. Each time Clint brought Lucky in for one thing or another she at least checked up on them, like the time Lucky dug through the trash by the side of the building and puked all night or when he got into a fight with another dog at the park. She said something to Clint, _I'll take good care of him_ or something like that, and Clint gave Lucky's ear one last scratch and bent down to kiss his forehead.

"Good boy, Lucky, good boy."


End file.
